Apostate: Forbidden Things

by Nikki Mccormack

  It was too late to worry about that now.

  Sinking to one knee, he brought the blade down level with Ini-jnai’s throat and started to sweep it in a path that would cut deep into his neck. At that same instant, there was a movement to his right and the soft whistle of something cutting through the air. There was barely enough time for his heart to jump into his throat before the thrown knife plunged into his upper arm. The force of the throw sent steel driving deep into the muscle. The injured arm jerked out of position and the blade swept up instead of across, cutting a line from under the adept’s ear up to the point of his chin.

  Before Ini-jnai’s eyes were fully open, Myac was flying backward through the air, the power behind the push so strong that he felt the bones of his lower legs shatter, jagged edges tearing through flesh, when he struck ground. He cried out, a hoarse scream that didn’t even sound human in his ears. He lay where he landed paralyzed by an agony so intense he was scarcely aware of the army surging to life around him. Whoever had freed his hands wasn’t going to be coming to his aid now.

  Pain. Everything in his world was now pain. His entire life narrowed down to the mind-numbing anguish of his shattered legs. Even the blade embedded in his arm was an itch by comparison. He couldn’t imagine anything hurting more, but Ini-jnai hadn’t gotten a chance to express his anger yet.

  Someone stood over him, speaking in low, sinister tone. The words made no sense, but the intent was crystal clear. Horror filled Myac the instant before a deep gash opened on one hand, splitting the flesh from his wrist to the tip of his index finger, laying it open to the bone. Pain like fire burst from the wound, violent enough to distract from his legs, burning away all remaining coherent thought as blood gushed out hot over his hand. His free hand clamped around the wrist of the wounded hand, desperate to stop the gushing of blood, then a matching wound split it open.

  He felt another wound split his cheek along the line of the cheekbone as someone reached down and wrenched the blade from his arm. The sound of his own voice howling out in agony filled his ears and beneath it all, some part of him was aware that it was his own power being used to torture him. Even in the midst of that immeasurable pain, humiliation and rage surged through him. Simultaneously, wounds opened across his chest and higher up in both wrists. His lungs seized with the shock of the myriad deep wounds and the blood he had already lost.

  Black spots swam in his vision, the warriors staring down at him faded. He was faintly aware of another gash opening across his ribs. Blackness wrapped around him and he welcomed its embrace when it sucked him down into unconsciousness.

  •

  “Ini-jnai.” The First Maker ignored him and rage flared in Ksa-jnai. No one ignored him. “Ini-jnai,” he roared.

  His First Maker turned, dark eyes crazed with anger, blood running in a thin rivulet down into the collar of his shirt from the shallow cut that stretched from under his ear to his chin. Close. The foreign maker had nearly sent his Bloodnau into the Afterworld. Remarkable. What courage and determination it must have taken for him to risk such a move in an army full of enemies. He could have run, but he wanted his power back enough to risk his own life to get it.

  Ksa-jnai gazed down on the still foreigner. The pale man’s breath was coming in shallow gasps. Awareness had left him. Not a surprise given the extent of his injuries. He would die soon if his blood continued to drain out into the grass with such speed. A waste of extraordinary power. This man, though not born to the Khajikan, was bold and strong enough to be one of them.

  He became aware of Ini-jnai trembling next to him, overcome with a fury born of pain and fear. The First Maker wasn’t ready yet to face the Afterworld and they both knew it. He had nearly taken an early trip.

  “I expect you to save his life,” Ksa-jnai stated. Silence met his words. Glancing at his Bloodnau, he saw that the maker’s face had gone a pale, ashen color, his jaw hanging slack with disbelief. It would be very difficult to pull the foreign maker back from the edge of death at this point. Let the strain of that effort be a lesson to Ini-jnai to control his temper. “Only when that is done may you heal this.” He ran a rough finger across the cut under Ini-jnai’s ear.

  The adept flinched and lowered his gaze, though not fast enough to hide the flicker of fresh rage that flashed in his eyes. “I’m not sure I can, First Legend.”

  “This one is stronger than you, my Bloodnau, but you are the First Maker. His power makes yours greater. It makes this army greater. I expect you not to waste such a thing.”

  The First Maker nodded and sank to his knees next to the mangled creature in the grass.

  “Make certain he bears the scars of this day as a reminder,” Ksa-jnai added. When he felt the vast store of power Ini-jnai commanded focusing down into the dying maker, he turned his attention to the surrounding warriors. “Whose blade is this?” He held aloft the weapon he had pulled from the foreign maker’s arm.

  Na-jnai stepped forward and knelt, bowing his head. Ksa-jnai nodded. He had suspected as much. Holding the weapon by the pommel, he offered it to the First Warrior.

  “The blood is yours,” he stated.

  Na-jnai looked up, gaze alighting on the bloodied blade. “Thank you, Ksa-jnai, First Legend.” He spoke with breathless reverence, accepting the hilt.

  He placed the weapon to his lips in a soft kiss, blood painting those lips black in the moonlight. Closing his eyes, he licked the precious liquid from his lips.

  Ksa-jnai considered the youth for a long moment, appreciating the deep respect he showed for the honor he’d been given. The First Warrior rivaled Ksa-jnai in strength, both in physical and now in blood strength. He was devoted to their cause and respectful of their traditions. Though he lacked any maker’s skill, he would be a worthy successor. It could be dangerous to name one so young. The impatience and impulsiveness of youth were always a risk though Na-jnai was less impulsive and hot-tempered by far than Ini-jnai who was many years his senior. This felt right, and Ksa-jnai always followed his instincts.

  “You have done well, Na-jnai.” When he spoke, the First Warrior’s eyes snapped open, their dark depths reflecting the moonlight. Lifting his voice, Ksa-jnai proclaimed, “I name you Bloodjen, next ruler of the Khajikan.”

  Na-jnai’s smile was transcendent. “My blood to honor you,” he said in response, bowing down until his head touched the ground at Ksa-jnai’s feet.

  Ksa-jnai nodded. The choice was well made. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Ini-jnai’s eyes before the First Maker looked away.

  “Finish your work,” he said in a low tone edged with threat.

  One day, his Bloodnau would fail him. He knew that with the same certainty he knew Na-jnai was the right choice as his Bloodjen. Right now, he had no replacement for the First Maker. Eventually, maybe…

  His dark gaze shifted to the foreign maker. The wounds were closing one at a time as his Bloodnau worked to fulfill his orders. In his mind, he saw the man again, standing in the doorway of the burning inn, wielding such awesome power to take down his warriors. This man needed to live. His blood holding was already great. Though he did not know it yet, he had horses, wives, and children among the people of Khajikan by Rights of the Conqueror. If only they could breach the barrier of language, he might become a willing power in Ksa-jnai’s army.

  With a gesture, Ksa-jnai released his new Bloodjen and returned to his resting spot to wait and see if his new maker would survive.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A strong desire to talk to someone who shared at least some of his devotion to Yiloch drove Adran out of the palace in search of Hax. With his sister and Commander Dalce dead, there weren’t many people left to go to. He and Paulin had never been close, Ian was off with Cadmar and Indigo in search of Yiloch and Ferin, and he had no idea where to begin to look for Leryc. The young new captain had left their bed early that morning to lead a patrol in the city.

  He managed a small smirk of amusement that he now considered it their bed.

&n
bsp; Who else, other than Hax, came close to understanding the extent of his frustration and worry around the current situation? There was the Lady Auryl of course, but what she loved was the idea of Yiloch, not the man. She hadn’t been around him long enough to understand why his captains loved him.

  He and Hax had spent a lot more time together of late. A relationship once based on necessity and grudging respect had changed to one of mutual dependency as they sought solace from the anxieties they shared. Adran still found her rather caustic, though he agreed with her cynical outlook more and more as time passed without word of Yiloch. This morning he had nearly let the weight of constant worry keep him in bed. It was hard not to hide away in his rooms and let the deep melancholy take over, but he needed to be involved in the affairs of the empire if he was going to ensure things didn’t fall apart in Yiloch’s absence. Hax’s somewhat abrasive temperament helped him focus.

  This time of day, the commander was usually making rounds on the inner wall. Patrols had been doubled and the inner gates were opened only with the permission of ranking officers, which meant Hax, himself, Paulin, Leryc, or the emperor regent Lord Terral. The prophecy of war brought to them by Suac Chozai had become a thing of concern when many other parts of his prophecy came to pass, primarily, the betrayals that led to Yiloch’s disappearance. Now, numerous reports of that prophesied army from across the Rhuakine and the carnage it left in its wake had reached the palace. Based on those reports and the weakened state of Lyra’s military, it made sense to prepare for quick lockdown of the city and plan to face the army from behind the protection of the city’s walls.

  They had a war marching their way and he could do nothing but worry about Yiloch. Even his newfound love for Leryc did nothing to tame the long-time love he had carried for his friend and leader. He lived so much of his life for Yiloch. What was he supposed to do if the man never returned?

  Battering his way through the crippling ache within, Adran trudged about a third of the way around the top of the inner wall before he heard Hax’s raised voice and spotted her down by the main barracks reprimanding a group of soldiers for something. He couldn’t make out her words, but her sharp gestures and tone betrayed considerable anger. Facing Hax angry was an intimidating prospect, but not as daunting as that of wallowing in his melancholy alone. Without hesitation, he hurried down the first set of stairs he came to and made a direct line for the main barracks.

  When he reached her, Hax was sending the soldiers away, their worried looks hinting at some threat of further discipline. Her expression darkened even more when she glanced over one shoulder and spotted him coming. Her long braid of pale blond hair whipped over her shoulder as she spun to face him.

  “Come to pine away over your lost love some more?” she snapped.

  He was getting used to letting her sharp words slide off him like so much water thrown in his face. He’d even gotten past the wincing in response. Knowing that beneath her cold exterior she yearned for Yiloch’s return almost as much as he did made it easier. “I was wondering if you might be interested in sparring again later.”

  Her expression brightened at the prospect of giving him a sound thrashing. They had faced off over practice swords with some frequency of late. Hax outclassed him in skill, or perhaps she was simply more willing than he was to cripple a comrade, but the challenge was an effective distraction for him and Leryc enjoyed fussing over his bruises and sore muscles.

  “Of course. How about…?”

  The hint of a smile disintegrated and her face darkened like a sudden storm, her gaze shifting to something behind him. Adran turned and saw the gate to the inner wall gradually swinging open. Before he could say anything, Hax was stomping past him, her black look knocking aside everyone in her path. Adran hurried after. Watching Hax chew someone to pieces might at least be entertaining.

  “The inner gates are supposed to stay closed to all visitors without proper clearance. I don’t see anyone here authorized to give that clearance.”

  Even though he wasn’t the intended recipient of her anger, the snarl that followed up her shout made Adran wince. He felt a touch of sympathy for the gate guards as they turned to face her. One of the guards, a young soldier barely old enough to have completed his initial training, bowed deep to the commander. The youth’s pale face flushed, supporting the perception of inexperience. The other, an age worn woman who was probably mentoring the youth, narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin to face the charging commander head on.

  “Commander Hax, I felt it safe to assume that those orders could be overridden by Emperor Yiloch,” the woman replied with a satisfied smirk.

  Adran’s heart skipped a beat and Hax glanced back to meet his eyes, hers brimming over with the same shock and hope he felt. They both sprinted over to where they could peer through the opening gates. The opening was barely wide enough to admit one rider when the dappled grey stallion charged through. Yiloch’s silver hair blew out behind him, his unmistakable, flawless features shadowed with hardship, weariness and worry. Close behind him came Ian and Cadmar, slipping single file through the narrow opening. Indigo and Ferin were ominously absent.

  Neither the dark warrior nor the slender Lyran creator slowed to acknowledge them. They followed Yiloch past at a gallop heading to the stables. They all pulled up hard and were on the ground passing off their horses to palace grooms when Hax and Adran ran up behind them. The horses’ ribs heaved and sweat ran off them in rivulets. They had been traveling hard. Adran yearned to embrace his longtime friend, but he forced himself to hold back, fighting the sting of relieved tears as Yiloch’s piercing silver-blue eyes swept over him with a flicker of acknowledgement before riveting on Hax.

  “I want all archers and ranged adepts running a rotating patrol of the inner and outer walls at full force. Both gates need to be closed to general traffic and send our fastest riders out to call in reserves.”

  Hax bowed her head, her obedience unquestioning. Curiosity could wait. “It shall be done, my Lord.”

  “Now,” he snapped, his curtness with her giving true measure to the extent of his worry over the coming threat. Judging by his behavior, Adran knew the army must be at least as deadly as earlier reports suggested. “When you have those things taken care of, meet us in the council room. Bring Captain Paulin and Captain Leryc if you can get them quickly. Adran. Ian. Come with me. Cadmar is yours again,” he added with a wave to Hax. The dismissal was abrupt, but the solemn look and respectful nod he gave the dark warrior conveyed a sense of gratitude.

  As he turned toward the palace, Yiloch met Adran’s eyes for a second and the regret in that glance made his chest tighten. They were in serious trouble.

  Both Hax and Cadmar nodded understanding, their gestures going unnoticed. Hax touched Cadmar’s arm and they strode away with a sense of urgent purpose. Now wasn’t the time to be sensitive.

  Adran trotted after Yiloch, falling into stride on his right, across from Ian. The guards on the palace doors bowed deep as they opened them for the three men. In the instant before their faces lowered, Adran saw shock and perhaps a bit of alarm in their typically restrained expressions. Yiloch’s clothes were tattered and bloody in places. His refined features had picked up lines of worry and fatigue. In many ways, he looked worse than he had after he escaped the seven months of imprisonment at the hands of his father.

  “It’s good to have you back, my Lord,” Adran offered as they passed through into the palace.

  Yiloch gave a quick nod. “It’s good to be back. I only hope it isn’t too late. Where’s Lord Terral? I assume he’s been put in charge and kept under proper supervision I hope.”

  “Last I heard he was breaking fast with the Lady Auryl on the ocean terrace,” Adran answered, delighted, despite the sense of impending danger the emperor brought with him, to be serving his beloved friend again.

  Yiloch altered his course and Adran noted the shadows under those beautiful eyes. Whatever had befallen him in his absence, it hadn’t been plea
sant.

  “Might I ask where Ferin and Lady Indigo are?” Adran dared, watching Yiloch’s expression as they walked.

  The emperor’s jaw tightened and the hint of moisture glistened in his eyes before he blinked it away. Sudden dread struck Adran. Ian glanced at him and he saw the same pain in his cousin’s pale eyes.

  “Lord Ferin is dead,” Ian stated, confirming part of his fear. “Lady Indigo stayed with Suac Chozai.”

  Adran stumbled and Yiloch’s hand snapped out reflexively, catching his arm to steady him. Gathering his composure and falling back into stride, Adran nodded absent thanks to Yiloch. The moment slowed them for mere seconds, though it had a much more powerful impact on his body, leaving him feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut… twice.

  He swallowed hard to keep sorrow over Ferin in check. There would be time later to mourn. “She stayed with Suac Chozai? Why?”

  “Where is she supposed to go?” Ian replied, his gaze stabbing daggers into Yiloch’s back.

  Yiloch’s head snapped around toward the young creator and Adran suspected there was a reprimand in his expression from the haste with which Ian averted his gaze, now staring at the floor. He longed to dig deeper into the matter, partly out of curiosity, partly to distract himself from the loss of Ferin, but it appeared to be a volatile subject. Now was not the time to go rubbing salt in wounds.

  “What are we up against?”

  “An army. Not surprisingly from across the Rhuakine,” Yiloch added with a fierce scowl. “They’ve destroyed everything between the central Denilik lands and here. They have substantial ascard protections like nothing I’ve seen used here. Until recently, they suffered no losses, but someone managed to kill a few in AhnSegys. According to Ian, the dead warriors bore the signature of Myac’s power. The army could be less than a day behind us depending on how fast they’re moving now.”